Add an S and it becomes Slaughter
by CWprodigy
Summary: Joker is kidnapped and despite everyone telling him to, Batman can't let it go. Eventual Batman/Joker slash.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So I'm no batman super fan. All of my knowledge comes from watching the movies, Wikipedia, and my friends who are true diehard batman fans. Normally I hate it when people always try to make characters slash when they clearly aren't. But, Batman and Joker's relationship really is fascinating so I decided to explore it. Bear with me while I figure everything out. Anyway, enjoy!

Dull green eyes regarded the space with only a mild curiosity. It reeked of raw sewage and piss, rat dropping and crusty bird shit, white as snow. He sat under wood rotted away by the teeth of termites and forest green mold shone with soggy, suffocating moisture against the walls. The dank conditions were only offset by the sharp sliver of light, which shined through grimy windowpanes, like cheese through a grater.

He was not amused.

It took a lot to not amuse the Joker just as it similarly took a lot _to_ amuse the Batman.

A large grin spilt the madman's scarred, ruby lips at the thought of his favorite playmate just as the true extent of his injuries became readily apparent. Purple bruises that matched his bloodied suit blossomed on stark white cheeks like dead violets. His entire body seemed to hum with the overall pain of a good beating and his nose was easily sprained if not broken, coagulated blood clogging his nasal cavities with its sludge like consistency. He could feel his ribs, set and reset countless times by the worker monkeys of Arkham, jutting awkwardly from their not-so original positions but he was used to that now. The other inmates hadn't liked him very much and they weren't afraid to _show_ him just how deep their hatred ran.

A rat, fat and black as night rustled ominously in the shadows causing the Harlequin of Hate to jerk suddenly, upsetting his injuries.

"Shit!" He wouldn't have minded the pain if the cause of them had been his Batsy's fists. But the crazed clown knew his beating and subsequent capture wasn't the vigilante's doing. No, his bat always let him go.

He lapped his sharp tongue over yellowed, bloodstained teeth and spat at his feet. He grimaced as the binding of ropes dug into his skin and made him bleed. This pain was simply no good if he couldn't identify his perpetrator.

"I see you're awake," Voice as dank as the surroundings suddenly boomed from the shadows. The Clown Prince of Crime flashed his unidentified captor a toothy grin, careful to show off his jagged fangs but kept his voice so _innocent_.

"Well, ah, ya know, I gotta get my beauty sleep." He batted his eyelashes in the general direction of the voice and licked his plump lips with loud smacking sounds.

"Can it clown," The voice cut in, unamused and razor sharp. "I don't have time for your blathering."

"Well you see," Joker continued, unfazed. "Not that I don't like surprises, but being taken in the middle of the night does set a guy a bit off kilter." He crossed his legs as best as he could in his bindings. "So if you need something all you have to do is ask, I'd like to think that I'm an, ah, _reasonable_ man. Kidnapping me was a bit pre-mature don't ya think?"

He leveled the shadow with his best grin that seemed to tear his face apart more than it already was. His green eyes shined, losing their dullness and becoming just as sharp as the stranger's tone. Even without his knives, bound like a sausage, he managed to look deadly.

"This isn't a game."

At this the jester broke into loud cackles, shrill insanity bouncing off the walls and hitting him all over again in a crazed cycle of irony. Filthy pigeons flew away in fright as the joker doubled over in laughter, drowning in his own amusement. He jerked in his binding as his lungs deflated like balloons as all the air in his body seemed to be put forth in a laugh that cracked eardrums. Finally after several moments and deep gulping breaths, the laugh diminished to feminine giggles.

"That's a good one," The Joker said around his giggles, the corners of his eyes pricking with tears. "If you haven't noticed, games are, well, kinda my thing." He licked his lips once more, stained by lipstick and blood. The all too familiar copper taste flooded his mouth and stuck to his gums. Black pits of eye make-up with green gems like a snake's regarded his assailant waiting for a response.

The silence stretched on in waves as the jester waited, grotesque smile sitting pleasantly on his face. The figure, on his part, wasn't baited by the maniac before him and instead opted to walk away, footsteps echoing throughout room.

"Wait, come back," The Joker whined, voice sounding childishly disappointed. "I thought were were just getting started." A snicker escaped him.

"Don't stop the party on my account!" More giggles threatened to escape. "Besides what's a part without a clown!" He cackled again, voice rising at unpleasant octaves as he barely finished his sentence before it was engulfed by genuine hoots.

The sound seemed to echo for miles.

Muscles were tense under what felt like too tight skin and strained to break free in bloody ripples. Gaunt eyes regarded the broken city looking for any sign of trouble. A cool sheen of sweat coated his upper lip underneath his cowl and his plated armor stuck to him like the metaphorical second skin that it was. It was too quiet for his liking. Yes, police sirens did wail in pockets of the city while cars and trucks skidded over messily paved roads made slick by the recent rainfall. But petty crimes-robberies and break-ins-didn't concern him. The Gotham PD could, hopefully, handle it. The kind of quiet he was referring to was a lack of gunshots, pained screams, and overall chaos. It was the absence of deranged laughs that seemed to be ingrained into his eardrums. A cold chill clawed up his spinal cord at the mere thought of the homicidal sociopath's laugh but he quickly shook it off and focused on his task once more.

Calloused fingers rubbed his chin in thought as an unidentified but all too familiar feeling weighed down his chest and reduced his breathing to a gruff, asthmatic wheeze. Something wasn't right. He cleared his throat of sudden phlegm and spat over the edge of the building he was perched on. Dull vibrations pulsed over his body in sudden waves, originating on the left side of his utility belt. Only one person had the number to it.

The Caped Crusader removed the cheap burner, which looked small and useless in his large hands. Holding the phone to his pursed lips, he spoke with a throat full of gravel.

"What is it, Alfred?"

There was silence on the other line and he could imagine his loyal butler trying to piece his words together carefully.

"Sorry to disturb you sir," His accent was clear in his clipped tone, a method to camouflage his worry. "But a package has come for you."

Underneath the cowl, the billionaire's face looked confused and wary. Who would send him a package at that hour? And why? And why did Alfred sound so concerned?

"Well, what is it?" There was more silence except for the slight static that crackled along his ear canal like a lick of electricity. The good butler's breathing could be heard as he came up with an acceptable reply. A car horn sounded from several stories below Batman along with muffled swearing.

"Maybe…maybe it is best if you see for yourself." Alfred sounded unsure of himself, drained, and tired. A feeling of guilt tugged Bruce's mouth downward into a frown. He understood the amount of anxiety his dual identity could cause.

"I'll be right there." The conversation dropped with an audible click as Bruce pocketed the phone once more. He gazed across the ebony horizon of his city, the same city costumed freaks treated as their personal playground. With one last look he dove off the ledge, gracefully, like black silk.

Alfred regarded the cardboard box in front of him and something vile coiled in his stomach. He straightened his tailored suit and brushed non-existent dust off of his pant leg while he waited for Bruce to return. He was almost afraid to turn away from the box and its contents as if the entire apparatus would come to life and attack him. He didn't put anything past the harmless looking object. He had made that mistake before.

"It won't bite." Alfred jumped, adrenaline and sudden fright making his heart pound with a dull ache against his ribcage.

"That was not funny, Sir," Alfred said as a slight smirk appeared on his master's lips. Bruce on his part, simply shrugged, skin pulled taut over bulging muscles and tendons. His dark eyes scanned his confidant's face and could clearly see the worry the Englishman was trying to hide under his annoyed expression. Alfred glanced at the box and the billionaire followed his eyes to it, laid eerily alone on the kitchen counter.

"Is that it?" he asked, sobering quickly. His voice was suddenly heavy, weighed down by the concrete evidence in front of him that something wasn't right. The butler cleared his throat though he only nodded.

"What is it?"

"See for yourself sir," His butler replied, raising an almost challenging but mostly tired eyebrow. His stance showed his impatience and weariness, arms crossed, glaring subtle daggers at the package.

Bruce steeled himself for the worst, severed fingers or any other bloody body parts as his mind raced at who could be responsible. Jaw tensed, mouth in a thin, resigned line he peered into the box.

It was a clump of hair about the size of a child's fist. Dirty blonde and greasy, looking unkempt, possibly the hair of a dog and coarse to the touch. It lay alone in the box, no note, nothing. He must have looked confused because Alfred gave him a sympathetic if not pitying look.

"Alfred…what is this?" A slight pink tinge colored his cheeks at the look Alfred sent him, making him aware of his own incompetence and reminding him of his days being raised by the old Englishman.

"I do believe it is his hair, sir."

Bruce recoiled in utter disgust, dropping the chopped chunk of hair just noticing the green tint. He held his large, balled fist awkwardly at his side clearly stifling the urge to scrub his hands clean. Rocks rolled in his intestines as his eyes darkened. His jaw jutted out in frustration, fists clenching and unclenching as he pondered what it meant.

Was this a sign from the Joker? An indication that the Ace of Knaves knew his true identity? Surely if the clown was as smart as he claimed to be, then he would've figured it out by now. He even gave indication that he knew more than he said which must have been quite a challenge. If there was anything the Joker loved more than laughing and murder, it was talking. He visibly bristled as the clown's laugh echoed in his mind before he shook it off.

"May I speak out of turn, sir?" Alfred asked after the silence settled in like cool rainclouds. The billionaire could only nod, mind pre-occupied with a deranged man who reeked of gunpowder and explosive chemicals.

"What the hell does this mean?" The Butler exclaimed, rubbing the creases from his forehead. "Cleary this is some sort of symbol, but of what I am unsure. I mean this is the Joker we're talking about. It must be part of some sorted twisted game but I highly doubt he's gotten as desperate as cutting off _pieces_ of himself. If I didn't know any better, it would almost appear as if he's been…well…"

"Kidnapped." There was no question in Bruce's voice. The Joker had been kidnapped. But why? The unhinged murderer had been laying low since his last escape from Arkham. No high jacking news feeds for the mere sake of doing so and no blowing up buildings for his own twisted amusement. Sure the lesser villains, the other themed or costumed freaks, had challenged him in his archenemy's absence. But they were nothing compared to the Harlequin of Hate. No, the other criminals often deemed insane by the corrupted justice system of Gotham caused havoc because there was always an ulterior motive, always something to gain. But not with the Joker.

No, he killed simply as a pastime, something to do when boredom struck. His kills lacked emotional attachment and the sheer randomness and sometimes utter childishness of his stomach churning acts easily proved his lack of humanity and therefore his lethalness. He killed because he was bored, destroyed lives because there was nothing else to do, tortured the vigilante with declarations of love despite his sociopathic inability to actually do so because it made him laugh. There was no doubt of his insanity, so why would someone dare kidnap arguably the most deadly creature to ever grace Gotham's darkest corners?

And why send Bruce proof of it? Why not that blonde girl Joker kept around as a physical and emotional punching bag? What was her name again? Right, Harley Quinn. So why not Harley, why him?

"What if it's a trap?" His eyes matched his flat tone as he looked at the older man. More questions formed in his throat attempting to be processed by his brain but never quite achieving it. His head suddenly throbbed, chemical reactions in his brain working into over drive as the thick vein running alongside his temple threatened to burst.

"But what if it's not sir?" he surrogate father questioned more out of obligation than actual curiosity. He could care less what happened to the unstable jester that caused the man who was practically a son to him so much psychological and emotional distress. Just because he frowned on Bruce being the one to end the clown's life didn't mean he was opposed to someone else doing the job.

"If it's not a trap," Bruce repeated thinking out loud as adrenaline ran through his veins. "If it's not a trap, then someone has captured the Joker and wants me to know about it. They also want me to know that they know my identity. Whether they knew already or beat it out of him, I don't know. But they want me to know they have him, but why?"

A/N: So, how was it? It's only the beginning for what looks like will be a pretty long story. The slash will be very slow going for their relationship to really develop so don't hold you breath for a sex scene a few chapters in. Please review, they really let me know what my reader thinks more than favorites or follows though those are really appreciated too. Sorry, I ramble when I'm nervous. Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

Rough, calloused fingers rubbed tiredly at throbbing temples. Nerve endings were restless under skin, under expensive silk sheets, black as an abyss. Bruce Wayne stared at the ceiling, hidden underneath shadows while his brain raced thoughts through itself in a seemingly never-ending cycle. Jaw clenching and unclenching, he swore he could still feel the Joker's hair in his hand, shiny and unwashed, greasy green dye covering dirty blonde, almost brown strands.

He was covered in a cold sweat, limbs spread awkwardly under the covers, appearing disjointed from his body. Bruce knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep. Not that sleep had been a common occurrence anyway. By day he was a billionaire and playboy but by night he adorned his suit and cowl, taking down criminals. Half the citizens of Gotham loved him; the other half thought he was to blame. How could one costumed lawbreaker be different from all the others right?

_To them you're just a freak...like me. They need you right now, but when they don't, they'll cast you out, like a leper. _

The Joker's manic giggles echoed through his mind. The psycho maniac had managed plunge the city into such chaos _so easily_, a crude smile eternally on his face as he did so. He wasn't worth saving.

For a brief moment Bruce entertained the idea of going to the kitchen but decided against it in fear of waking Alfred. He thought of the butler's worn face a few hours prior. The man had looked worn out, if not completely exhausted, worry over the package making him look years older. If anyone deserved a night's rest, it was him. Their earlier conversation tumbled through his mind again and again.

_What if it's a trap? _

_But what if it's not sir? _

The knowing look in Alfred's eyes still made him shudder, the vibrations traveling to the king sized mattress under him. The Joker had been taken. So what? The insane jester had tortured Gotham's citizens far too long, and at times, made Bruce question his own humanity. The murderous sociopath could die in a hole for all he cared.

So why this nagging feeling? There had been many instances where Batman could have easily ended the joker's life but something always stopped him. It was always his brute refusal to get blood on his hands. Above all he was a decent man even in indecent times and refused to stoop to the madman's level by taking the life of another human being, even if it was the Joker. Even after everything he's done…Dent…Rachel.

His fists balled with a renewed sense of anger, underused muscles straining against his body, as he stifled the urge to punch the nearest wall.

Rachel, his oldest friend, the woman he loved. He would've given up anything for her, even his other half. The joker had taken her from him and destroyed Dent in the process. He deserved to die.

But not like this.

No, even the homicidal anarchist needed someone to save him. It didn't come from a place of compassion, more pity and self-righteousness on the vigilante's part. Bruce had been told that compassion was his one weakness, but it wasn't until now that he thought it was true. He closed his eyes in deep resignation and allowed himself to become one with the shadows.

X

"Good morning Master Wayne, sleep well?"

Agitated, bloodshot eyes gave him his answer. Alfred nodded to himself and sat the breakfast tray on the bedside table with a dull clang. The sight of eggs and bacon made the billionaire's stomach churn almost painfully as he turned to the other items on the tray. His fingers fumbled ungracefully, nearly missing the handle to his mug of black coffee while a migraine bounced around like ball inside his skull. He took a grateful sip and flashed Alfred a grin that ended up looking more like a grimace.

"Did you locate the sender of the box?"

"I'm afraid not sir," Alfred answered, putting the cloche back on the metal tray. "No fingerprints, no return address, and the post office has no record of it."

Bruce nodded taking a deep gulp, hot, bitter liquid crashing into the back of his throat and burning his trachea. He coughed then, deep and robust, eyes widening in momentary panic as Alfred patted his chest. He could feel the coffee threatening to drip from his nostrils. He refused his body's natural instincts, like always, and managed to get his coughing under control.

"You alright sir?" The butler's eyes held a deeply engrained concern. His mouth was twisted in a frown as he examined the young man in front of him.

"I'm fine Alfred. But this situation isn't. How do we know this is really the Joker's hair? And even if it is, how do we know that he is in real danger? What if this is some prank?" There were silent for a moment, both contemplating the questions. Police sirens wailed past the manor, breaking their mutual concentration.

"I believe the police would have the Joker's DNA after his multiple incarcerations. They could compare the samples so we can know for sure. That would take care of at least one problem."

Bruce nodded in agreement; before he warily taking another sip. It went down easier than before and he sighed, half in relief, half in contemplation. He rubbed his fresh bruises absentmindedly as he came up with a course of action.

.

"I'll deliver it to Gordon tonight."

X

He growled, low in the throat, animalistic, with just the smallest hint of desperation. His fingers worked adamantly, attempting to remove the handcuffs strapped tightly around his admittedly thin wrists. He had bitten through the rope hours ago.

The nameless, faceless person keeping him here hadn't liked that. Three of the man's henchmen had pinned him down while the other two cuffed his arms and legs. Idiots. Almost as incompetent as his Hench-clowns and _that_ was saying something. A fly buzzed around him, causing him to jerk in irritation, green hair becoming more disheveled than it already was. He snarled and the fly wisely retreated.

They had drugged him at first, holding down his resisting body as they jabbed a needle into his exposed flesh. It had been the cheap kind, making the world hazy and him nauseas. He had gotten better drugs at Arkham. In his dizzying state, a henchman had tried to take advantage of him. The man had gotten a knee to the face and a broken nose for his trouble. He was still The Joker after all, not some restrained whore for their own personal pleasure.

"C-can I get you anything, M-Mr. J-joker," The guy's voice was hesitant, brimming with a quiet terror he tried not to show but that bled through his eyes regardless.

The boy was young, early twenties with mousy brown hair and eyes that were simply _too_ trusting. From what the Joker could gather, his older brother, a real meathead, the high school dropout type had roped the kid into this job. He had promised the sap enough money to alleviate his worries for college tuition and the boy had stupidly taken the bait. Now he stood in front of the most dangerous criminal in Gotham and looked as though he would thoroughly piss his pants.

The Joker grinned maliciously, like a cobra ready to strike. He licked his lips as the boy fidgeted, clammy hands trembling and sweat droplets appearing on his bare upper lip.

"Lemme think," Joker drawled, grinning wildly as the boy jumped, a tiny whimper escaping his lips as he did so. This could be fun. "How's about untying me?" He held up his restrained wrist as best he could, waving them back and forth for emphasis. "Hmm?"

The boy looked around the rundown warehouse, gulping nervously, brown eyes darting around.

"I, uh, can't do that. I'm…sorry."

The joker giggled then, high and cruel before full blown laughing in the kid's face.

"Oh, you're _sorry_ huh? What's your name anyway?" He sat back against the wall, adjusting himself. Clearly the kid was gonna be there awhile, minus well get comfortable.

"Jonathan," he answered, wringing his hands in heavy discomfort. He shouldn't have been down here without his brother. Not with a murderer restrained only by a few handcuffs pilfered from Gotham's finest. The psycho could probably break free if he wanted to. But despite what the other henchmen said, he didn't think the Joker was crazy. Except for a few instances of him singing for hours, purposely off-key and the incident with the handsy henchman named Jake, the Joker hadn't been much of a nuisance. Then again, he _was _drugged most of the time.

Jonathan watched as a slow, almost truly happy smile split the joker's face apart, grease paint smearing to reveal gruesome scars. His lifeless eyes seemed to shine with a renewed energy as a handcuffed hand moved to tap soft, blood red lips in thought.

"I knew a guy named Jonathan once, called him Johnny though, Johnny Crane," the clown said finally, something close to fondness coloring his tone. He wasn't looking at Jonathan, if anything he was seeing past him as his smile faded, getting lost in the memories.

"What happened to him?"

The joker turned to the other man sharply, glaring daggers in his direction, mood flipping quicker than a coin. The angry look vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

"Oh, he, ah, well, left me…for this guy named Crow." He laughed maniacally then, sharp notes reaching all knew heights as he barked out his amusement. Jonathan was at a loss, feeling somewhat awkward but mostly terrified as the madman laughed, never breaking eye contact.

"You wanna know how I got these scars?" he asked after a moment of silence. He flashed rotten teeth and snickered lowly, madness shining behind emerald green irises.

Jonathan seemed unsure but stiffly nodded. Oh yes, the Joker thought, this could be fun.

X

Gordon yawned, eyes red and scratchy, breath reeking of the bitter sludge the precinct called coffee. Ink-marked fingers smoothed out graying eyebrows, then slid down his tired face to rub his jaw, which was in need of a shave. The jagged gravel of the rooftop dug into his worn cracked leather shoes as the cold air sliced through his clothes and pierced his skin, chilling him to the bone. His nicotine stained teeth chattered continuously and he nearly went back inside until he felt an even cooler presence.

Hidden in the shadows, exposed jaw barely discernable from his black cowl stood Batman. His mouth was set in determination but his eyes showed a distraction. Gordon offered him an acknowledging nod, which the Caped Crusader did not return. Large hands were wrapped around the cardboard box the hair had come in, but the request was stuck in his throat. How the hell would he explain this to Gordon?

"What do you have there?" Gordon questioned, noticing the bundle. Batman's fingers tightened around the box as his brain tried to put together an acceptable explanation. He nearly licked his lips before remembering how nervous that would make him appear.

"A package," he answered, voice its usual gravelly thickness. "It was dropped off at my door. No name, return address or prints recovered." He tossed the commissioner the box suddenly, the older man struggling to catch it. Batman smirked slightly but all remnants were gone when Gordon looked at him in confusion before gently opening the package and looking inside.

Gordon sighed, feeling a familiar fear infect his insides. He was used to the vigilante being cryptic with him but this this was something different. He ran a hand through graying locks before bravely pulling back the rectangular flaps a peeking into the box. Grungy hair stared back at him, the darkness making it look almost black. He nearly brushed his fingertips over it to make sure but something stopped him.

"What exactly do you want me to do?" His brow was knitted in confusion, looking from the box to batman then back to the box again.

"I believe this is the Joker's hair. I would like you to compare it to the DNA you have on him to confirm."

This only seemed to confuse the commissioner more. The Joker had sent batman a package? Why? Or was it not the Joker at all? The rational side of his brain, which was in need of sleep, tried to piece things together in a way that made sense. But trying to see into the Joker's mind was impossible. Gordon cleared his throat softly, sound barely audible over their combined breaths.

"I'll see what I can do," he said finally. "But things regarding you are still a bit…strained around here. It may take awhile."

"I understand."

"I can't make any promises."

Gordon turned around but Batman was already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So yeah here's the next chapter, hopefully it's good. Please review so I can know. Really, the reviews help so even if it is a few short words or recommendations it would help a lot. Thanks you to everyone who has already reviewed and favorite and followed this story, it means a lot.

X

Everything was still. Not a calm still, a restless still, like something gut wrenching was happening under the blanket of calm and quiet. Bruce stretched his spinal cord, feeling the muscles spasm and crack before twitching back into place. He was in what that Alfred liked to call "The Bat cave" deep under Wayne manor. It was hard to believe the dark, wet caverns below the mansion could be transformed so easily with no suspicion.

He fiddled with the new equipment Fox had brought him; mind somewhere far, far away. Gordon had yet to get back to him, but the billionaire could understand. With the apparent absence of the Joker, Gotham's lower class criminals had come out of hiding to wreak havoc on the city. It was the low lives mostly, petty crime that the Caped Crusader didn't waste his time on. But there were some more lethal in nature, drug dealers and mob bosses making up for lost time. The Joker must have been more frightening than Bruce gave him credit for.

He grunted low in the throat at the thought of the clown. He seemed damn near inescapable sometimes. He couldn't decide if this thing was real or a ploy for attention, he wouldn't put anything past the murderous diva.

A small, dark part of him that he would never acknowledge, hoped the criminal really was in a dark room, beaten to within an inch of his life, blood pouring from several cuts and gashes. No doubt he would be laughing as if the entire situation was just _killing _him and hopefully it was.

Bruce frowned, deep and troubled at his own violent thoughts. Despite his deep loathing for the clown that destroyed lives so frequently, he felt surprisingly guilty. The Joker had been right, no matter how much Bruce Wayne may have wanted him dead, Batman simply wouldn't allow it. He was battling the two halves of his psyche and the burning confliction inside him would burst all too soon if he didn't do anything about it.

"Will you be patrolling tonight or retiring for the evening, sir?" Alfred made his presence known in causal footsteps until he was a comfortable distance from his employer.

"Neither," Bruce answered, brushing dark hair from his forehead, revealing the creases there. "I want to see how real this threat is, do a little digging."

Beside him, Alfred sighed, soft and barely audible. It wasn't disappointment but that didn't stop Bruce from feeling that way.

"I have to Alfred." He felt the need to explain. He shifted uneasily under his guardian's stare. He was trying to force the truth out of him, like he was a child once again. It made him feel amused yet small at the same time.

"I'm not scolding you, but I don't see how this is your responsibility. The Joker is not causing any trouble…for once, and provoking him may not be very wise."

Bruce sighed. The butler had a point and he was reluctant to admit it. He wasn't exactly sure if this threat was even legitimate and even if it was, why would he feel responsible. Why did he always feel responsible for the clown? Maybe, it was because he was the only one who came close to offering him a challenge, the only one who could effectively take him down without being destroyed themselves.

"I'll be careful, if he's in his normal hang-out I'll leave without him seeing me."

Alfred cocked an eyebrow as if he didn't believe it, but said nothing and exited the Bat cave. Bruce groaned, placing his forehead on the cool table. Wordlessly, he went to put on the Batsuit.

X

The Joker's hideout was a large and sorry place, reeking of mold and asbestos with silky spider webs and dust caked into the corners. The concrete floors contained streaks of blood most likely from several sources with bullet casings and burned pieces of money strewn carelessly about. The only thing missing was the Joker.

Batman regarded the space coolly, eyes narrowed and ears perked for the slightest audible noise. He was on the second floor of an abandoned warehouse turned run-down apartment complex near the heart of Gotham. It had taken awhile to figure out where the Harlequin spent his down time in between getting re-admitted to Arkham and pursuing citywide chaos, but he had found it, just not the criminal. He continued his thorough sweep of the second floor just like he had with the first before considering calling it quits. Surely if the Joker were there, he would've made his presence known by now. _His _Bat seeking him out for once? The Joker simply wouldn't be able to pass up the opportunity.

Then he heard it, faint, and barely audible but there. Footsteps panicked and rushed coming from right above his head. A frown tugged at his lips as he moved up the rickety stairs trying to stay as silent as possible. There were areas where the stairs were destroyed forcing him to leap over the gaps and places where the brick wall was gone as if the wall had been blasted clean through. He wouldn't be surprised if the Joker had blown himself up, accidently or not he wasn't sure.

He silently crept to the first door he came across. Silence. He moved on checking each one before coming to the last one of the floor. The door was unlocked and the lights were on.

He raised an eyebrow under the cowl and slowly turned the doorknob, internally wincing as the aged hinges protested with a high-pitched whine.

"Who's there?" The voice was young, feminine, and scared. Batman froze. Was the Joker keeping hostages?

"I know you're there," The girl said in a small voice. "I can see your shadow."

Batman showed himself, eyes serious and back straight. He seemed to expand to feel the whole room, dark presence permeating the air with a palpable sense of mystery. The girl had long blonde hair and innocent, wide blue eyes. Her small hands held a tissue in a death grip. Her round face was red and puffy. Clearly she had been crying.

"Batman?" Her voice came out with a sense of awe and she had a slight accent.

He nodded stiffly. "Is the Joker here?"

She began crying again, sharp shrieks of pain erupting from her throat. She sobbed into her already soggy tissue before reaching for another in from the box on the coffee table that was missing a leg. She blew her nose, green snot grotesquely marring the white cloth.

"They took him," she said between sobbing. "They took my puddin away!"

Batman frowned, surveying the crying girl. The Joker had a…girlfriend? It seemed impossible to him. The Joker was a sociopath, incapable of love. But Bruce knew he didn't love the poor girl, no she was simply a game, a distraction when the criminal got bored. It was sad really, but Bruce didn't have time for sympathy.

"Who took him?"

"I don't know," she cried, "It was maybe four days ago. They barged in with masks and guns and demanded he come with them. He refused at first, tried to make a joke out of it. They didn't like that."

She began tearing up again, grabbing for another fluffy, white tissue. "They beat him unconscious. I watched them take him away. I didn't even try to save him!" Her knuckles were as white as the tissue she gripped in her small, delicate hands.

"Did they say anything? Anything different about them that you remember?" His eyes darted around the small apartment. The young woman before him who was still in the process of crying her eyes out would've surely contaminated any useful DNA by now.

"No," she answered. "All I could focus on was Mistah J. I thought they had killed him. But then one of them said that there boss wouldn't be happy if they did that. It would mess up their whole plan."

"What plan?"

"I don't know," she answered wiping her eyes, "all they said was that he was just bait for something bigger."

Batman inaudibly sighed as he came to the realization that this was bigger than the Joker. The madman was simply a pawn in an even bigger game.

"Wait! Where are you going?" The girl asked. She looked scared, big blue eyes bloodshot and hair unwashed. She looked like an orphan.

"What's your name?"

"Harley," she answered wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "Harley Quinn."

"Harley," Batman repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "You shouldn't stay here. Is there anywhere else you can stay?"

"Yeah, I have a friend who doesn't live to far from here."

"Leave here as quickly as possible. If you hear from the Joker, contact Commissioner Gordon. He'll know how to reach me."

Harley closed her eyes in exhaustion. "Okay."

But he was already gone.


	4. Chapter 4

He could feel the exhaustion set in, pooling in his head and in his joints. He had been in the same warehouse for nearly two weeks. Every few hours he was given bathroom breaks, twice a day he was fed like clockwork. The only difference between being captured or being at Arkham was that he knew why he was at Arkham and he could've escaped their almost anytime. He had no clue why he was there and more importantly he was getting restless.

"Hello boys," he drawled at the men. They scowled at him, steroid-induced muscles bulging under their too-small T-shirts. It was mid-morning, light shining almost cheerfully through the gaps in the plywood boarding up the windows. He saw the syringe and frowned. He usually was drugged at night.

"That time already? And here I thought you forgot about lil ole me," he continued, not seeing Jonathan amongst them but wasn't surprised. The kid didn't have the stomach for this kinda work. The boy had promptly vomited after Joker had described how he'd gotten a brand in the form of puckered scars but he still continued to listen in a twisted fascination as Joker doled out story after grotesque story.

"Can it freak," One of them growled, kicking him in his side. The clown grunted and grinned, the smarting bruise already forming under his skin. They'd removed his jacket days ago along with his shoes, leaving him in purple and green mismatched socks.

"I'm the freak huh? Funny, your daddy said the same thing, at least when his mouth wasn't, ya know, _preoccupied_." He cackled as a blow landed to his head making his vision fuzzy. For a moment he felt nauseous, stomach lurching and ready to cough up what little sludge that'd forced down his throat.

A headache was hovering over his temples. Headache pain was his least favorite kind of pain simply because it was self-inflicted. He liked pain because other people had caused it, because he had made them snap and oh how his Batsy could _snap_.

He felt rather than saw the needle go into the already bruised vein in his arm. He let out a hum of approval at the pain and closed his eyes, allowing the dizzying drug to numb him. It brought back the memories of white-washed walls and sterile hallways, inmates who were terrified just by the rumors and guards who enjoyed beating the living batshit shit out of him. His eyelashes fluttered as cheap narcotics and long overdue exhaustion met like a car crash inside his body.

"Man how long we gotta put up with this bastard?" One of the henchmen asked watching the clown drift off into oblivion. Even in a restless sleep, the Joker's mangled scar tissue made a macabre smile sit perpetually on his face. The stark white face paint was smudged and smeared, black eye make-up melting with sweat, revealing pink skin underneath.

"The boss said it shouldn't be too much longer Jake," Another henchman replied, watching the bound criminal with disgust. "He said Batman's not exactly gettin' the message quite yet so another sign will have to be made."

"How stupid can that flying rat be?" Jake growled, rubbing the dark stubble sprouting sharply on his angular jaw. "I mean geez Matt! What does he need, a billboard? One of the freak's fucking fingers?"

"Nah," Matt replied, shaking his bald head, tanned skin glistening with sweat. "He said a picture will do." He produced a cheap burner in his clammy palm. He approached the snoozing clown and turned on the camera.

"Smile maniac."

"As if it were possible not to," Jake muttered.

Joker didn't even register the flash, already having dreams of clowns and bats and blood.

X

No news came. It had been a week and not a word. Not from Gordon, Harley, or the face-painted psychopath. Bruce sighed, feeling the veins in his muscles bulge against his skin as he lifted some equipment Fox had dropped off. He felt the bruises, the result of a quick run-in with a few thugs the previous day, but his exhausted brain was reluctant to tell his body that it should be in utter agony at the moment. Little victories. The chill from underneath the manor let goose bumps happily devour his flesh but he was reluctant to put on anything other than the T-shirt stuck to his skin with dried sweat.

"Trying out your new equipment tonight Master Wayne?" Alfred was beside him now, holding a blue sweater and a tired smile. Bruce accepted the shirt, wincing internally as the material slid clumsily down his scarred flesh.

"There seems to be no need," he answered, mouth twisted pensively. "Gordon and his boys seem to have a handle on things." He could detect the notes of bitterness in his own voice but was reluctant to acknowledge it.

"What about your suicide mission?"

Bruce stifled the urge to roll his eyes as he sat a new case of batarangs down on the table. If it weren't for the genuine curiosity, he would've sworn the Englishman was patronizing him, as if he'd known all along his young Master would fail.

"No, I'm not. It's not like anyone else will look for the psycho," he replied gruffly. "Gordon is occupied with just keeping the streets safe enough to walk through at night. The Joker being held captive is the best thing that could've happened to him."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, creases on his aged face becoming more pronounced. "For him, Sir?" he repeated. "What about for Batman?"

"Batman…he needs to know the bastard is alright." The words tasted like bitter lozenges in his mouth. He could feel his own irritation grow. Why the hell should he care about the sociopath who'd done nothing but destroy the world around him?

Alfred regarded the man he considered a son. The tension and indecision was obvious in the grooves of his face, eyebrows scrunched together, perpetual frown turning his mouth downward.

"What the hell am I doing Alfred?" Bruce looked up at his butler who remained silent. He sighed out his exasperation, raking a large hand through his dark hair. Gotham hated him, both parts of him. The Bruce Wayne idiot playboy they thought he was and the symbol he was trying to be, both were resented.

"You are doing what you think is right," Alfred said slowly, quickly reminded of the introverted, confused boy he used to reassure. The boy was bigger now, with a deeper voice and bigger, more dangerous toys, but the Englishman still saw the child who watched the life drain from his parents' eyes, watched as the red of spilled blood turned into the red of rage and capes and regrets. "You are doing the best you can and that's all you and batman can do."

Bruce nodded, reluctant to admit Alfred had a valid point like always. At times it irritated him, but it was nice to have a constant in his life.

"I don't know Alfred," he said honestly. "Maybe I'm just kicking a hornet's nest with this one. The Joker being off the streets is the best thing that could happen to Gotham."

The butler nodded, keeping his joy well hidden behind a mask of professionalism. The thought of giving up seemed to have lifted the billionaire's spirits almost immediately.

"I think I will retire for the night," Bruce said finally. His butler nodded following him to the elevator, thoroughly happy with his employer's decision and that he could rest without worrying.

The next morning, the manor received a package that contained nothing but a cellphone and a note.

X

A/N: Sorry for the late update. I'm still trying to figure out where I'm going with this or how many chapters but it looks like it'll be a long one. Thanks to all those who said I did a good job keeping them in character because that was my main concern. You guys are awesome by the way and as far as fandoms go, you're one of the best at keeping the characters in character so it was a lot to live up to. Anyway, please review! Thoughts and suggestions are well appreciated.


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